#gruauntie evie | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tyrannastar · 2 months ago

Text

Shattered Memories

Gravity Falls fanfic, sfw

OC x Canon

Characters: Stanley Pines, Stanford Pines, Evellia Castillo (my OC)

Trigger warnings: Hurt/Comfort, blood, injury, mental distress, swearing

Word count: 2.7k, story under gif

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden hue across the room. The birds chirped in the distance; Evellia stirred awake, and her eyes fluttered open. She stretched, looking over to see Ford sleeping peacefully. His chest rising and lowering, she smiled softly. She turned to face him, running her fingers through his hair. He groaned, taking in a deep breath, his eyes slowly opening.

“Morning, Bookworm.” She said, making Ford snicker.

“Morning, my love.” He turned toward the nightstand, grabbed his glasses, and sat up.

“I think you’re forgetting something.” She spoke. He thought for a second and shook his head.

“I don’t think so.” He gave her a teasing look; she opened her mouth in a fake, shocked look and nudged him. He laughed and leaned over, kissing her. She melted like it was the first kiss again, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. He giggled during the kiss; he was basically lying on top of her. He pulled back, resting his forehead on hers, catching his breath.

She cupped his face, tracing circles on his cheek with her thumb. He raised his eyebrow.

“Uh oh.” He spoke, causing her to pull her hand back, “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

He wasn’t convinced.

“You’re a bad liar.”

“I am not!” She laughed. “I happen to be an excellent liar. I’ve just never lied to you.”

He gave her a doubtful look. She sighed.

“I just had a really strange dream about you.”

“About me?”

She nodded, “Yeah, but getting worked up about it is ridiculous. Considering I don’t remember all of it.”

Ford twirled her hair. “Let’s hear it.”

Evellia sighed, rubbing her eyes with her two fingers, trying to remember the details. “There was this bright blue light and yelling; you were there and the next moment.” She made an exploding gesture with her free hand and clicked her tongue. “Gone.” She heard him laugh, causing her ears to ring.

“That is ridiculous.” He said.

She snickered, rubbing her face.

“Yeah, I figured you say that. I know you wouldn’t just disappear.”

“But I did disappear, though.”

She laughed.

“Very funny, smartass.” She pulled her hands back, giving him an annoyed smirk. “You’re such a jerk. Come on, get off so we can-”

“I fell through, remember?”

Her smile dropped, and she scanned his face. She was looking for his teasing smile, any sign that he was joking. But Ford’s lips curved into a small, sad smile. There was a weight behind it, a heaviness in his eyes. The ringing continued.

“Okay. It’s not funny anymore, Stanford.” The panic raised in her voice. She lifted her arms to push him off her, but she couldn’t move. She tried again; it was like she was paralyzed.

“I’m not here anymore, Evellia.” His voice almost seemed to warp and be distorted, as if it were coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The room seemed colder, and the sun's golden hue slowly changed to blue. The ringing grew louder.

That’s when she realized that it wasn’t ringing.

It was whirring.

She felt her eyes tear up as Ford reached over and gently held her face in his hands—no warmth behind it. His eyes were dead.

“You need to wake up.”

The sound of the whirring was grinding against her eardrums and pounding against her skull like a hammer to a nail.

Then

She woke up.

She shot up from her bed, her heart beating against her ribcage as if trying to escape. She glanced at the window. It was still nighttime; the sound stopped, and she had clenched the sheets on the empty side of the bed.

Ford’s side.

He wasn’t there. He hadn’t been there for days.

She loosened her grip and sighed. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, the cold wood floor grounding her and rubbing her face with both hands. She thought maybe talking to Stan and telling him everything that had been plaguing her.

She shook her head. She didn’t want to go down to the basement.

She didn’t want to see that machine again.

She didn’t want to see him.

With that thought, she pushed herself up and shuffled into the bathroom. The creaky floorboards groaned beneath her bare feet, a sound she’d once found charming. Now it was a reminder of how old and tired the house felt—just like everything else in this damn town.

She flipped on the light. She blinked against the sudden brightness, wincing at her reflection.

She almost didn’t recognize herself.

She splashed cold water onto her skin, rubbing at it until her cheeks were raw, hoping the chill would wake her from the numbness seeping into her bones. The icy shock helped, but only for a moment.

She stared at herself, cataloging every flaw, every inch of exhaustion written across her features. She looked like hell. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying. Dark circles hung beneath them, and her dark curls were knotted, hanging limply around her face. She ran a hand through it, trying to tame it, but her fingers got caught in the tangles. She looked so tired, so worn out—like she had aged years in just days.

She exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the sink.

Evellia shifted, her eyes catching the faint glint of the old copper pendant lying against her chest. It was rusted now, but its copper gleam had once been so vibrant. Her fingers traced its familiar edges, the minor nicks and dents she knew by heart. She let out a small, nostalgic laugh. Remembering how Ford had looked at her the day they gave it to her. So proud, even though it had been stolen with Stan’s help.

Her smile grew, remembering the summers in New Jersey, how Ford would get lost in his sketches while Stan tried to drag them both into whatever scheme he had concocted for the day. Those were simpler days. She could almost hear their laughter again, the teasing remarks from Stan, the earnest excitement in Ford’s eyes. She let herself fall into the warmth of those memories—it was like an embrace.

But just as quickly, the memories shifted, warped. Her laughter died in her throat. She saw Ford again—not the boy from the beach, but the man from that terrible day. The one whose eyes were filled with desperation, whose voice broke as he tried to stop everything from falling apart. The flash of the portal, the sound of it roaring to life. Her hand gripped the pendant tighter, her knuckles turning white, and she winced, her breath catching in her lungs. Her heart was pounding louder. Ford's voice echoed in her head like she was there again—his yells, desperation, pleas for help, and then...

Silence.

The crash echoed through the house like a gunshot, but it was almost distant to her as if it didn’t belong to her reality.

She stood there, frozen, watching the spiderweb cracks snake across the mirror, her chest heaving. A sharp, stinging sensation shot up her arm. Evellia pulled her hand back and looked down to see her knuckles were bleeding; the skin was cut open in jagged lines, blood pooling.

She hadn’t meant to do it, or at least she thinks she didn’t. Maybe a part of her had meant to.

Blood dripped from her hand, staining the shards of glass on the floor. She barely felt the pain. All she saw was the broken reflection of herself. Her knees buckled, and she dropped to the floor, blindly reaching for the shards with trembling hands, trying to clean them up, even as the jagged edges sliced her palms and fingers. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. It was just a stupid mirror. Her hands were already bleeding—she just needed to clean it up. She had to fix it.

“Evie?!” Stan’s voice boomed from the hallway, followed by heavy footsteps. He burst into the bathroom, holding a bat. “What the hell happened? I heard a cr-“

“I punched the mirror.” Evellia interrupted, her voice detached. She didn’t even look at him. “I was looking in the mirror, and next thing I know, I just-.” She slowly recreated the movement of her punch. She laughed dryly, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “I punched it. Just like that. Can you believe it? I’m not sure why I’m surprised.”

Stan stared at her, his eyes scanning her face, then drifting down to her hand. “Jesus Christ, Evie, your hand.” He knelt, concern etched into his face. “You’re bleeding bad.”

She waved him off, shaking her head. “Yeah… I guess I am. It’s not that bad, however. It’s not the worst injury I’ve gotten. Do you remember when we were all roughhousing, and my arm broke? Now that hurt.” She laughed, the sound hollow and tinged with hysteria. “Stanford felt so bad. He wouldn’t stop apologizing. And you!” She dramatically pointed at Stan, smiling, but it was so wrong. “You wrote swear words all over my cast. You remember?”

Stan blinked at her, confused but trying to follow. “Yeah, I remember. Got you in trouble with your folks, right?”

“Sure did,” she laughed again, shaking her head. “But it was funny, right? Stanford was so mad, especially since he signed it, and it looked like he wrote the swears, but I thought it was hilarious.”

Stan nodded and frowned, his eyes flicking between her bleeding hand and her face. “Evie—”

“Remember when we broke the window?” she interrupted, her voice picking up speed. She was trying to escape the present, her mind jumping from one memory to another.

“The what?”

“The window. We were playing inside, and we broke it.”

Stan blinked. He had almost forgotten about that. He couldn’t even remember who broke it.

“I blamed you for it, right?” He said; she nodded almost too quickly.

“Stanford wouldn’t let you either!” Another hollow laugh came out of her. “Boy, I thought we were going to die that day. Your dad was so angry. He yelled at us for hours.” She dragged out the word. “And your mom—God, she was more worried about the cuts on our knees than the window.” The tears flowed down her face, and she wiped it with a free hand. Smearing blood on her cheek. Stan carefully reaching for her hand, trying to stop her from picking up more glass.

“Evie, you’re bleeding all over the place, please. Stop.”

She looked him dead in the eyes. Her smile faltered. Her voice was quieter, more vulnerable. “I wanted to sail with you two on that stupid boat,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “And I was so hurt when you said I couldn’t.”

Stan’s brow furrowed. “You did?” he asked, his voice soft with surprise. “But you always said that you didn’t care. You called it a death trap.”

“I happen to be an excellent liar.” She looked back at her hands.

There was a long pause. Then Evellia’s voice trembled as she continued, “I was worried about him. He… he was losing his mind. You saw how awful he looked.”

He nodded, recounting his brother’s ‘welcome party.’

“Did you know when I came home one day, he ran out of the house and begged me to tell him if I was real? I didn’t know what to say or do. I felt so helpless. All I did was hold him. And I saw your car, and I thought—” her voice broke, pointing at nothing “—Hey, there’s Stan; if anyone could help Ford, it’d be him.”

Her body trembled as she reached for the pendant again. Yanking it off her neck, the chain snapping, staring at it.

“But he’s gone.”

She looked up at him, full of tears and a smile. “It’s all gone. Everything is gone, and I hate it.”

Stan’s face paled. “Evie…” he began.

She froze momentarily at the sound of her name before something in her snapped. Her hands tightened into fists, and without warning, she slammed her fist into the shards on the ground, her voice rising into a pained scream. “I hate it! I hate this place! I hate this town! I hate the house! Everything! I hate you! I hate Ford!” Her voice broke into sobs as she pounded the floor, the sharp glass cutting deeper into her hands. She pounded her fists into the ground again and again, tears streaming down her face.

“I want it back! I want everything back the way it was!"

Her sobs were loud, raw, echoing in the small bathroom.

Stan grabbed her, pulling her into his arms. She fought back, pounding into his chest with her hands, fighting him off, but he held her tight, refusing to let go. Eventually, she lost her energy, her body going limp as she collapsed into his chest, her sobs quieting until they were nothing more than broken, exhausted gasps. Stan held her, rocking her gently as she wept, not saying a word.

Evellia stirred, her eyes slowly fluttering open, and she woke up to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft beeping of machines. The bright lights shining in her eyes, she raised her arms to block it out, noticing her hands. They were bandaged up; she blinked in confusion, sitting up in the hospital bed. Then it came back to her: the nightmare, the mirror and—

Knock Knock

A soft knock came from the door, and she turned her head to see Stan standing in the doorway, holding a small bouquet. Orange sneezeweeds. He smiled awkwardly.

“Hey.” He said.

“Hi.”

He pointed to the spot on the bed. “Is that spot taken?”

Evellia managed a weak giggle. “Nope, all yours.”

Stan sat down, setting the flowers on the small table. She raised an eyebrow.

“How did you know I liked those?”

“Oh, I read it in, uh, Sixer’s book.”

She snickered; she was not surprised Ford wrote that down.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently, concern evident in his eyes.

“Physically? Sore, tired.” She looked at her hands again.

“And mentally?”

She let out a sigh. “A little embarrassed.”

She moved closer, putting her head on his shoulder, and he laid his head on hers.

“I’m sorry.” She said

“For what?”

“Well, for one, probably scaring the shit out of you.”

He laughed.

“And for saying I hated you and Ford.” She sniffled. “I was just so…so.”

“Hurt and angry?” He finished her sentence, and she nodded. “I didn’t take it personally. I know you didn’t mean it. And even if you did, I’m sure Sixer’s more hateable than me.”

She laughed, a genuine laugh this time, and Stan’s smile grew wider.

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension easing.

“Listen, Evellia.”

She made a face.

“Ew, Don’t call me that; it’s weird when it's you.”

“Yeah, that didn’t sound right to me either.”

He pulled back and placed his hands on her shoulders. He spoke softly, his tone serious.

“You don’t have to stay, you know.” She looked up at him. “I know I’m staying to try to figure out how to fix that stupid machine. But you don’t. I know you miss him, and it kills me to see you hurting. So, if you want to leave, I won’t hold it against you, and I’m sure Stanford wouldn’t either.”

Evellia considered it, her heart aching. The weight of his offer was hanging in the air. She could leave. She could walk away and try to start over somewhere else, away from Gravity Falls. But then... she’d be walking away from Stan, too. The thought of losing him too—of being completely alone—was too much to bear.

"I’m not going anywhere," she said softly, shaking her head. She smiled faintly, "Besides, who will keep you out of trouble if I’m gone?"

He scoffed. “Okay, sure, I remember you got us into more trouble than I did.”

“I don’t recall. I was the perfect angel.”

“Yeah, and in who’s heaven?”

She nudged him, Stan chuckled, pulling her into a hug. “I missed you, Knucklehead.”

“I missed you too, Shorty,” She said; he rolled his eyes and laughed, ruffling her hair.

10 notes · View notes